


The Lady in the Tower

by FrozenSnares



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, F/M, First Meetings, Kinda, faerie tales, it's totally rapunzel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrozenSnares/pseuds/FrozenSnares
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bronn is a theif on the run. Constantly. It's been all he's known since he could walk. He travels quickly from city to city, never staying in any place long enough to be known. It all changes when he finds someone worth staying for, even at the cost of a rose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lady in the Tower

**Author's Note:**

> Because Margaery deserved better.

It was too early to already be on run. The sun was scarcely over the horizon, beyond the trees of the forest, even if it couldn’t break through the canopy. Only a small sliver of the world was awake, but it had no bearing on anything else bvecause he was already running. The air was already coming in sharp, steady breaths, and his arms were pumping to keep him moving faster. Bronn was used to it, though.

And the bounty was worth it.

Bronn readjusted the strap of his bag as he ran, praying that nothing would come spilling out of it as he ran. He was in a new area, and there was nowhere safe for him to stop. Still, he pressed on, weaving through a forest and seeking out somewhere he could stop without being caught. Seemingly out of a wall of vines, a woman stepped out. Immediately, Bronn froze in his path, hiding behind a tree.

The woman had long, blonde hair, and she looked around suspiciously before pulling up her hood and heading off at a brisk pace. Bronn waited a full minute until he moved forward, intent on seeing where the woman came from and what she was hiding. Surely, she was hiding something with the way she was acting. He pushed his hand into the wall of vines, pulling them to the side and revealing a small alcove. At least, it seemed small.

With a little effort and a bit of crouching, Bronn found that he was actually in a cave that passed clear through the wall of rock. He moved through the cave quickly, hoping that the woman had no intentions of returning any day soon.

To his shock, the clearing opened up to a large clearing. It looked like the richest land in the world: springing to life with green foliage, a spring of fresh water, and a multitude of plants in full bloom. Stepping into the plush grass, Bronn grinned to himself, thinking that he could easily remove the woman from the situation and have the clearing for himself. There was even a nice tower that he could make his home.

Slowing down considerably, Bronn walked over to the tower. He went around the base of it three times before finding that there was no way into it. Frowning, Bronn took a seat at the base of it, trying to think up a different way to enter. Surely, it must exist if the woman was here for any reason. Perhaps the tower was close enough to the rim of the cliffs to enter directly through the top.

Bronn put away his plans to search for a way in, succumbing to the warm heat of the sun and the cool breeze. With a smile on his lips, he fell asleep.

Sometime later, he woke to the melodic sounds of nature. Birds, surely, were singing to each other now that the day was awake with him. Resting further against the tower, Bronn dug into his pack, ready to check on the reward of his morning accomplishments. He was just to his prize when the music stopped, and Bronn realized that a voice was making the music. Sitting up, Bronn looked around, trying to find the source of it.

After a while, the music started again. The sounds of it wafted over him, and Bronn closed his eyes, wanting to just be lost in the voice again. He shook himself, forcing himself to find whoever was singing. It was definitely coming from above, and Bronn stared up at the balcony of the tower trying to will whoever owned the voice to appear.

It took a long time, and Bronn helped himself to the small loaf of bread in his bag before the brush of a skirt caught his attention. Bronn sat up quickly, waiting for them to return. Another minute passed before the skirts arrived again, and Bronn took several steps back to find a woman in a simple green dress. She held up a small cup of water, slowing pouring it on one of the plants on the balcony. She was too far away for Bronn to see clearly, but it did nothing to make him any less curious about her.

“Are you a princess locked in a tower?” he called up.

She jumped at his voice, retreating quickly before coming back out slowly. Her head moved carefully with her scan of the area, and she finally settled on him. “Princesses live in castles,” she called down. “And I’m not _locked_ in. I live here.”

Bronn smirked up, thinking that this certainly made his day more interesting. “How about you open your door for a weary traveler?” he asked. “Maybe some water before I go on my way?”

“And what do I get?” she asked back.

“Something to remember me by,” Bronn shot back, unable to stop the sly edge to his voice.

He was rewarded with her laughter. The clear, melodic chime of it made his smile soften, wishing the sound would come again. It stopped soon enough, and a small pebble came from the balcony, landing with precision on his shoulder.

“I like flowers,” she called down, but she didn’t reappear for the rest of the day, even though Bronn stayed in the clearing through the night.

He slept soundly against a wall of the clearing, waiting to catch another glimpse of the woman from so far a distance. He never got it. However, the comfort of the clearing let him sleep in peace through the night. Bronn was woken by rustling early in the morning. He stretched out his arms before sitting up, finding the same blonde woman from before walking toward the tower. 

“Margaery!” she called up. “I’m home, dear.”

The door to the balcony opened, and the other girl stepped out. She hefted something over the rail of the balcony, and a long piece of silk tumbled down to the ground. The first woman gripped the silk of it tightly, and she was slowly lifted up to the balcony. Settling back, Bronn watched the tower as he reached into his bag. He had just enough to last him today, and he would have to head out for more food soon. Not to risk being caught by either of the women, Bronn stayed hidden for the morning. Before the sun rose, the first woman descended the tower on the same golden silk from before. Her cloak was a deep blood red, and she tucked in her hair very meticulously as she left the clearing.

The other woman stayed on the balcony, leaning down until she rested entirely on it. Bronn waited another minute before he walked over, grinning up at her.

“Margaery is a name fit for a princess,” he called up.

“Yet still no flowers,” she replied.

“Will you give me a flower if I bring you one?” he asked, looking toward the thick strip of silk that is surely his way up. 

She laughed again, standing up straight. “You’ve spent enough time looking up my skirt, I think.”

She disappeared again, taking the silk with her. Before it got entirely out of his reach, Bronn lifted a hand to brush his fingers through it. Surprisingly, it felt finer than silk, softer, more giving than fabric should be. A gust of wind caught it, and separate strands flew from his fingers before being pulled from his grasp. It was hair. Bronn frowned, looking up at the balcony.

“So is your hair the door?” he called up.

Margaery reappeared, holding something in her hands. “It depends,” she said. “Are you my prince?”

“Oh, definitely,” he said. “I’ll sweep you off to my castle.”

“What if I want to stay here?” she asked.

“I’ll come live with you,” he offered. “Just you, me, and that woman who visits every morning.”

“My mother,” Margaery replied sharply, “who actually brings me flowers.”

Bronn rolled his eyes, stepping back and putting his hands on his hips. “Alright, princess,” he called. “What’s your favorite flower?”

\--

If asked, Bronn had no actual reason to be buying flowers, especially because he couldn’t afford the roses Margaery asked for. However, the buzz of the city caught him, and Bronn found that it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to settle into the city. However, it would be much harder after he obtained a rose and food to last him another few days. He didn’t have any money, but life was easier as a thief. Waiting around the small stand of flowers, Bronn circled, pretending that he was searching for the right one. In truth, he simply waited to the owner to be looking away and no one else to pay him any mind before he snagged a bright red rose and swiftly set it down at the bottom of his bag.

He’d have to remember it was there when he found his meal.

Well into the afternoon, Bronn found his way back to the tower, scanning around for any sign of Margaery’s mother. It was late, though, and she didn’t seem the type to stick around. Bronn pulled out the rose, spinning it in his fingers as he approached. He took a long inhale from the blossom before looking up and finding Margaery smiling down at him.

“So which castle is to be yours?” Margaery asked, twirling a section of her hair between her fingers. “If you _are_ a prince…”

“Don’t you want your flower now?” Bronn asked back. “I had to part with a pretty penny for this one.”

Margaery’s smile grew bigger. “Do you still require something in return?”

Bronn brushed the petals against his cheek, sneaking a look at her. “I’d settle for your company princess,” he said, “but I’ll need to leave to find food.”

“Can I have my flower first?” she asked, leaning down onto the railing.

“Should I throw it up there?” Bronn asked back.

“No!” Margaery shouted. “Just wait right there.”

She disappeared back into the tower, reappearing a minute later. Carefully, she lowered down a basket tied to a strand of her hair. She fed it down slowly, letting it settle into Bronn’s outstretched arm.

“You ca put it in there,” she said firmly, “and you can have what’s inside.”

Bronn opened the basket, leaving it tied to her hair. Inside was a warm loaf of bread and a large chunk of cheese. He eagerly pulled them out, immediately sinking his teeth into the warm bread. Clumsily, he put the rose into the basket, freeing his hands to pinch off a chunk of cheese and toss it into his mouth. Just as eagerly, Margaery pulled up the basket. She dug into it quickly, bringing the rose to her nose and smiling down at it.

They sat in silence for a long time. Margaery was transfixed on her rose, sweeping her fingertips lightly over the petals and breathing in its scent. Bronn finished his meal fast enough, simply staring up at her as she toyed with the rose, now completely settled on her balcony. Her hair was slipping off the edge of it, falling in waves and catching on the wind. Instead of the tangles expected to form there, the wind seemed to comb it out, putting it back in place.

Getting to his feet, Bronn brushed his hand through her hair. Not a single knot gave him resistance, and he twirled a lock around his finger. As gently as he could, he tugged twice on the strand. Finally, Margaery looked down. She had a brilliant smile on her face, and she seemed much happier than before.

“Why don’t you come up?” she offered. “I think I can pull you.”

“I think I can climb,” Bronn replied, gripping tight into her hair. He paused right before putting his weight on it and looked up. “Won’t it hurt?”

Margaery shook her head firmly. “Not at all,” she said. “Now, I thought you wanted to visit.”

With a quick sigh, Bronn hefted up his weight, using the wall of the tower to help him up if he stretched out his feet. It was harder work than he thought it would be, but he slowly got to the top and pulled himself onto the balcony. Once he was there, Margaery was nowhere in sight. He looked around cautiously, breathing heavily, searching for the woman at the top of this tower.

He stepped inside slowly, seeing every surface of the small room completely filled with flowers. Ever color imaginable bloomed here, but there was more green than anything. Margaery’s back was facing him, and she carefully watered a small bushel of flowers.

“You took your time,” she said, not facing him. Her long, blonde hair trailed behind her, outlining the path she took to get to her current location.

Bronn followed it backwards, all the way out to the balcony again. “Well, I wouldn’t want to make this too easy.”

“Make what so easy?” Margaery asked. She turned to him sharply, arms crossed over her chest. She had big, brown eyes that made her heart-shaped face look welcoming in spite of the glare she gave him.

“Stealing you away,” Bronn said simply. “Wouldn’t you like to get out of this tower?”

Margaery smirked at him, going back to watering her plants. “Not really,” she hummed out. “I like it here.”

Bronn leaned against the wall, watching her go about the room. She definitely seemed content here, tending to the flowers and singing softly as she went. He pushed off against the wall. “Don’t you want to see the world?” he asked. “Have some adventures? Make friends?”

Margaery paused briefly, lowering the water. “Mother says that friends only hurt you,” she whispered. “And that no one would like me anyway.”

Scoffing loudly, Bronn walked forward. “Smart princess like you?” he asked. “They’ll love you.”

“I’m not a princess,” Margaery said.

“Then, tell me: what’s with the hair and the tower?” he asked.

Margaery sighed, moving around. “This is where I live,” she said. “It’s _safe_ here.”

“Where does your mother live?” Bronn stepped forward, determined to press her for more information. “If it’s so safe, why isn’t she here?”

Straightening her back, Margaery stared right back at him. “She goes to get us food, so we can live.”

“And me?” Bronn asked. “Are you safe from me?”

“I can push you from the tower,” Margaery snapped back. “Will you survive?”

“If I take hold of your hair,” Bronn said. He leaned back, though. “What’s the deal with your hair?”

Margaery sighed, slumping back down on her bed. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

Bronn sits at the door to the balcony, looking over at her. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said. “And I couldn’t use a story.”

Glancing at him, Margaery rolled onto her side. “Do you believe in magic?” she asked. “Would you even think it’s true?”

“As much as I believe you’re a princess.”

Margaery scooted forward, smiling over at him. “First,” she said slowly. “You need to tell me your name.”

“Bronn.”

“Bronn,” Margaery trilled. “Okay, _Bronn_ …”

For the rest of the night, they shared stories. Margaery stayed on her bed the entire time, and Bronn stayed firmly at the edge of the room, one leg on the balcony. She told him the brief story of her hair, how it used to glow when she laughed as a baby, how it now makes everything come to life around her when she sings. At the smallest bit of insistence, Margaery sang for Bronn. She stayed flat on her back, just letting her voice filled the room, but all the flowers reacted.

Even in the low light of nighttime, every flower in the room opened to full bloom. Even the smallest buds opened up, and Bronn felt a surge of energy rush through him. He felt utterly relaxed, rejuvenated by the strength of her voice coursing through him. He sat up, looking over at her. Margaery’s eyes were closed, and the single red rose on her bedside table looks like it’s glowing.

Far too soon, she stopped. Slowly, the room shifted back, but the fullness of everything stayed. Everything seemed more alive, and Bronn couldn’t help his staring. Margaery glanced over to him, a small smile on her mouth. Before he could pull himself out of his reverie, Margaery started asking him more questions. She asked about all the places he’d visited, the books he read, what he did for fun… When he told her that he lived on the streets and had to steal food to survive, Margaery tried to feed him again. She demanded that he return whenever he needed a meal, much to Bronn’s amusement.

They stayed up through the night. However, Margaery only started yawning at the brink of dawn before she snapped up.

“It’s morning,” she said.

“So it is,” Bronn mused, leaning out to see the lightening sky.

“Don’t!” Margaery called. She raced over, pulling him into the tower. “She can’t see you!”

Bronn blinked at her in confusion. “Oh, your mother? You aren’t allowed to have friends.”

“You can’t be here when she comes,” Margaery said. She seemed to be talking to herself. “You have to hide.”

Bronn shook his head. “You shouldn’t be afraid of your mother,” he said back. “Get out. Leave with me.”

Margaery shook her head, looking wide-eyed at him. “I can’t,” she responded, tears welling in her eyes. “Please.”

Sighing, Bronn let Margaery shove him under her bed. She then spent a good time making sure the blankets covered him completely. He heard her step around the room quickly, and quick brushes of fabric being tossed hit his ears. Faintly, he heard her mother calling from the window.

“Coming!” Margaery called back. It took her another moment before he heard her steps fade to the balcony. Her heaving breathing filled the room, and a loud sigh came into the room.

“Oh, it is so nice to see you,” the older voice said. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m good,” Margaery sighed. “A little tired… I stayed up reading last night.”

“Let me guess: your favorite book _again_?” 

“Yeah,” Margaery agreed.

The footsteps trailed around. Bronn readjusted his body under the bed. He looked out to find them exchanging food in the kitchen. He hid before he could be found, right in time for the steps to come back.

“I should leave you to rest, dear,” the older woman said. “But would you please sing for me first?”

“Of course,” Margaery replied. She took a deep breath, and her voice filled the room again. However, it wasn’t the same as before. Bronn could feel how subdued she was, how much harder it was for the notes to come. She finished quickly, leaving the room in silence.

“Oh, I always feel better after a song in the morning,” the older woman said. “Now, I’ll leave you to rest, dear.”

“Thank you, Mother,” Margaery mumbled back. “Have a good day.”

“You, too, dearest.”

Another minute passed in silence. Then, the door to the balcony shut, and Margaery pulled back the covers. Bronn worked his way out, seeing how much more reserved Margaery was now. She hugged herself loosely, curled up entirely on her bed. Bronn looked up at her, staying at his place on the floor.

“Leave with me,” he said. “I’m not a prince, but I’ll find you one. You can be free.”

“But I can’t be safe,” Margaery mumbled back. She sniffled, hiding in her arms. “I couldn’t even keep my rose.”

“What?” Bronn asked, glancing to her bedside table.

Margaery hiccoughed. “I’m not allowed to have roses,” she mumbled, pulling on a strand of her hair. “Mother found it, so it’s gone now…”

Bronn moved forward. He reached for her hand, pressing a light kiss to her knuckled. “I’ll get you more roses, princess,” he promised. “A whole garden of them just for you…”

Slowly, Margaery shook her head. “You should go,” she mumbled out. “I-I can’t—”

“Alright, princess,” Bronn mumbled. He sat back, dusting off his pants and standing up. “Just let me down, then. I can disappear.”

Slowly, Margaery eased her way out of her huddle. She moved to the balcony, opening up the door. She tossed the end of her hair over the railing, and Bronn slowly descended the tower. Lifting his bag higher on his shoulder, Bronn spared a single glance back. Margaery was no longer in sight, but her hair still flowed in the wind. Sighing, Bronn left the clearing, wondering if he could possibly follow through on making her a rose garden.

\--

Life in the city was far from what Bronn wanted. After spending a night in Margaery’s tower, he couldn’t get his thoughts away from her. She could count the people she’d met on one hand, and he found himself unintentionally finding every rose possible for her.

It becomes part of his routine. Bronn wanders the city and surrounding areas, finding the perfect rose for Margaery every day. Even though he never called to her, Bronn went to her tower every day, leaving a single rose at the base of her tower. It was always gone the next day, though, so Bronn continued bringing more. He nearly crashed into her mother a few times, but he always managed to hide before she found him.

However, Bronn followed her one day. He went all the way to the edge of the wood doing so, and saw her mother enter a carriage bearing the royal insignia on it. Frowning, Bronn realized that Margaery _must_ be a princess, especially when he caught people kneeling toward the carriage on other days. When faced with the decision, Bronn balked. He couldn’t take Margaery without her permission, so he looked into possibilities of growing roses for her instead.

“Harder than you expect, sir,” the shopkeeper told him. “I can’t grow them myself. Only have these because Mace owes me.”

“Mace?” Bronn asked.

The shopkeeper nodded. “Mace Tyrell,” he said. “The Tyrells own the only rose garden in the country, but it’s closed now. Ever since they lost their daughter…”

“They had a daughter?” Bronn asked. “What was her name?”

“Margaery,” the shopkeeper replied. “His family was devastated when they lost her. They closed the rose garden in her honor.”

“Margaery?” Bronn asked back. “You’re certain?”

The shopkeeper nodded. “Positive.”

Bronn frowned, dropping his hand from the rose he was touching. If what the shopkeeper said was true, then Margaery may not be a royal after all. She may simply be a missing daughter of a wealthy family. He wandered around more, asking for any information he could. After the day passed, Bronn realized that Margaery was likely a daughter of these Tyrells, and that the queen often left the castle every morning to visit other villages in need.

It was all very troubling to Bronn, and he purchased a rose the next day to take to Margaery’s tower. He turned around in a circle, fighting with himself before he called up to her.

“Princess? Are you still there?”

Margaery appeared slowly, smiling down at him. “Have you brought me another gift?”

“A white rose,” Bronn responded, twirling the flower slowly. “Can I come up?”

In response, Margaery threw her hair over the railing, and Bronn climbed up with the stem of the rose between his teeth. He sat on the railing, pulling the rose from his mouth to catch his breath. Margaery stepped forward, snagging the flower from his hand and kissing his cheek.

“Thank you for my flowers,” Margaery said.

Bronn looked up. “Did you get them?”

“I did,” Margaery said. She hopped over to her bed, pulling back the blankets to reveal that the entire underside was filled with roses. “They’re beautiful.”

“Well, anything for a princess,” he said.

Margaery frowned at him. “I’m not a princess,” she sighed. “Just—”

“Just raised to call the queen ‘mother’,” Bronn replied. He got a small glare from Margaery, so he went on. “Everyone in the city called her queen, even bowed to her carriage as it went by.”

“Not… not my mother,” Margaery mumbled.

“Well, the same woman who visits you every morning,” Bronn told her. “I saw her. In the city.”

Margaery’s jaw dropped open, blinking at him. “Then… I _am_ a princess.”

Bronn smiled at her. “I think… just a noble daughter,” he said. “To Mace Tyrell, who owns the only rose garden in the country. Come with me, Margaery. Let me take you to your family.”

Margaery paused, staring at his outstretched hand. “I-my… my mother…”

The moment stretched out. Slowly, Margaery nodded. The tears welled up in her eyes, and she started muttering to herself. She ran around the room, gathering up several things in her arms. After a moment, she paused. “My hair,” she mumbled. “How will I…?”

“You can cut it,” Bronn suggested, earning a glare from her. “We’ll need it to leave. So once we’re far, we’ll figure it out.”

Margaery nodded. She slowly took his hand, dropping her supplies. “Let’s go,” she said. “Now. _Please_.”

Bronn squeezed her hand. He led her out to the balcony, and the sun was just setting. He told Margaery how she needed to get down, before descending before her. He waited patiently, knowing that she needed to pull up her hair before coming down herself, but with a different system. Her hair flies out the window, and Bronn waits for it for her to appear.

But her hair kept falling. It fell until it pooled on the floor in front of him. A large heap of golden hair fell before him, the end of it falling neatly on the top of the pile. Bronn looked up, mouth open.

“Margaery!” he called.

The only response he got was a scream.

Bronn rushed forward, digging his palms against the smooth stone of the tower. He swore loudly, rushing around and trying to gain purchase anywhere. He called for Margaery several more times to no avail. Frustrated, he reverted back to his original plan. He ran for the cliff side, climbing up the almost sheer rock with bare hands to get up high enough. Pulling himself up higher, Bronn looked back for the tower, trying to find a safe height to leap over. He was high up, and the gap looked bigger up close. He ended up a full body length above the tower before he took a deep breath and jumped. 

He missed the railing near the balcony, falling shy of it. Luckily, he managed to snag a vine that wound tightly around the tower. It gave some with his momentum, but Bronn caught his weight on his feet, jarring his ankle. Still, he pulled himself up and over, crawling to the railing of the balcony and bursting into the tower.

“Bronn!” Margaery called.

Warning was clear on her tongue, so Bronn threw up his arms, catching the blade of a knife in his forearm. Instead of drawing back, he moved into the attack, grabbing onto the wrist of his attacker. As expected, he was face-to-face with the queen, seeing a harsh smile on her lips. Tightening his fingers, Bronn watched a wince cross her face before she dropped the blade. She quickly resumed her previous demeanor.

“So you’ve been planting ideas in my daughter’s mind,” she chided. “Now, look… I’ve had to go and destroy all this work for nothing.”

Bronn glanced over to Margaery, seeing her hair hacked to bits around her shoulders. All the shine seemed to have vanished, and she looked completely distraught. She shook her head slightly, and Bronn stumbled back being pulled in a new direction by the queen.

Her thumb dug into his fresh wound, and Bronn bent to the pain. He was pulled to the balcony and shoved over the railing.

“You’re never getting to my daughter again,” the queen hissed. “And I’ll see you dead before you ruin this.”

They both moved at once, and the queen tried to push him over just as he threw his weight down to the floor. It forced the queen past the railing. She let go of his arm, catching onto the railing. She could barely hold up her weight, and Bronn wanted to kick her off. The blood loss was getting to him, though, and he crawled further into the tower, closer to safety, closer to Margaery.

At seeing him safe, Margaery rushed forward, pulling him into her arms. Before he could get completely comfortable, Bronn grabbed at the fallen knife. Margaery brushed a hand down his arm, shaking lightly. She opened her mouth when a faint call came from the balcony. 

“Margaery! Margaery, dear. Come help Mother up.”

All of her muscles tensed, and Bronn grasped onto her hand. He firmly shook his head.

“You stay right here,” he said. “With me. You’re safe.”

Margaery swallowed. “Not while she knows,” she whispered back. “Not while she’s alive.”

Bronn nodded curtly, still dripping blood from his arm. He gripped the knife, getting to his feet and nearly falling over.

“No,” Margaery murmured out. She helped him down, hanging her head. Now, Bronn could see that her hair was slowly shifting to a light brown. She shook her head. “I-I’ll do it.”

Bronn watched Margaery disappear onto the balcony. Then, there was a muffled conversation. A sharp gasp. A scream.

He pushed himself up, trying to check on Margaery. She staggered backward into the room, a hand lightly pressed to her mouth. “I… I didn’t even…”

Bronn nodded, settling onto his back. “You didn’t,” he said. “She did. And now, you live.”

“You, too,” Margaery said firmly, kneeling down next to him.

Shaking his head, Bronn pulled Margaery’s hand away from all the blood that was pooling on his stomach. “No, I’m done, princess,” he told her. “Too much blood.”

“I can sing,” Margaery offered. “Without my hair, it might not—”

Bronn nodded, tapping her hand lightly. “Sing for me, princess,” he said. “Just let me hear you one more time.”

With a soft, teary smile, Margaery sang. The reaction from before was gone. The dark room stayed dark, and none of the flowers bloomed. Margaery looked down at him, smiling as she sang, and a soft glow came from under her bed. She turned to the light, continuing her song. Slowly, she grabbed onto the stem of a yellow rose and she lightly traced it over his arm.

A small resurgence of strength hit Bronn. He smiled back at Margaery, and she laughed through her song, leaning down to press their foreheads together. She finished the song slowly, and Bronn pushed himself up to kiss her lightly. Margaery gasped before moving into him, lying on the floor with him.

“You healed me,” he mumbled, late when the darkness pressed in around them.

“You saved me,” Margaery said back, tracing her fingers down his chest, even though it was dirtied with his dried blood. “And I do still have a bed.”

Bronn groaned. “Don’t those prospects scare princesses?”

Margaery laughed lightly, sitting up and pulling him with her. “I’m not a princess.”

Struggling under his weight, Bronn followed after her. He sat down on the edge, letting Margaery strip him of his bloodied clothes. She set to washing them, and hung them up to dry. He smiled after her, lying back. “I still owe you a rose garden.”

Margaery grinned at him, taking a seat at his side before moving closer to him. “You owe me nothing.”

\--

It took a week of travel. Bronn coaxed Margaery down from her tower, tying together multiple sheets and dresses to get them down safely. She insisted that he cut her hair, at the very least to make it even before they went out and she met people for the first time. He helped her along, though, and they followed the rumors down to Highgarden where the Tyrells still had a rose gardens closed off to visitors.

“How will we find them?” Margaery asked, stealing glances to the flowers at every possible moment.

“I’d usually break in,” Bronn suggested. “But we can try the door.”

They were refused an audience with the Tyrells multiple times, even after Bronn bought a new shirt that wasn’t stained with his blood. In the end, they did break in. It was only Margaery’s singing that brought the rose garden to life. It got the attention of all the Tyrells, and they slowly came to meet their daughter for the first time. Their reunion was full of laughter and hugs, tears and smiles, and Bronn was nearly escorted off. But Margaery kept his hand firmly in hers, determined to finally be safe with her family.


End file.
